The Butcher's Daughter, page 21
“We are all well. And you?”
“Good, good. I am fine and as you can see my house was spared. I have a few broken windows in a back room from a fallen tree but, all-in-all, I was most fortunate. Come in, come in my friends. This is my second huracán. I pray I never see another. You know the word huracán has no Latin root? We Spanish took the word huracán from the Taíno word huracan, which means storm, and made it our own. Not the only thing we’ve taken from these poor natives is it?”
“And what,” I asked, “took down all the trees on the west side of town?”
“Ah, a tronada or what I’ve heard English sailors call a ternado, a funnel cloud of intense power spawned by the huracán touched down. This Devil’s Breath, as we call it, ripped through the town killing many good people, destroying homes and shops and then cut a path through the countryside. The tronada did more damage than the huracán.”
“This New World is a cruel and hostile world,” I offered softly.
Cortés led us to his parlor and poured each of us a glass of wine. “No more so than the Old World I think, Mary. Death stalks each of us and has no prejudices. The dark lord of the underworld is never far away. But let us abandon such morbid thoughts! You had a successful voyage I trust, Captain Gilley?”
“We did, we did indeed,” Gilley answered. “We returned with superior quality goods that I’m confident will be of interest to you, goods that will fetch you excellent prices. We even brought back crates of good Spanish wine to sell my friend.”
Cortés nodded his approval. He insisted we stay for supper and his household staff, his Negros Ladinos, once again treated us like royalty. After we finished our meal we retired to Cortés’s veranda where Gilley provided bills of lading for everything we had and, following a bit of friendly haggling, Cortés and I reached a fair bargain for it all. I agreed to make one delivery down the coast, a few miles away from Santo Domingo as we had done before, one in Old Havana and another in the Port of Spain. Even with Cortés’s cut, and the money needed for labor and bribes, our profits were extraordinary. I did not, of course, tell Cortés that. He was making plenty.
With our business concluded, I said goodnight and returned to the ship with Efendi. Gilley, Hunter and Atwood remained behind with Cortés to enjoy more drinks and cigars, the stink of which I found nauseating although, I must admit, I tried a pipe once and thought the experience pleasurable.
In the morning my three warriors stumbled back to the ship locked arm-in-arm, more sloshed than I had ever seen them. I had to suppress a smile. I loved Gilley and Hunter and we were all growing very fond of Atwood. I was glad to see the bonds of friendship strengthening between them.
“You’re late!” I called down to them from the rail in mock anger.
The three men clumsily navigated across a short plank stretching from the dock to the ship until Gilley fell to one knee and retched.
“Christ what a mess!” I chided him.
“For pity’s sake, Mum!” Gilley pleaded, struggling to stand with the help of his two accomplices.
“Shhh, I implore you, Mary,” Hunter said and put an unsteady finger to his lips. “Not so loud.”
I ignored his pathetic plea and continued to have my fun. “Shhh? Is that what I just now heard you tell the mistress of this ship? Shhh? Good God sir, if I had any sense I would have all three of you tied to the main mast and flogged for your unpardonable insolence, as punishment for your deplorable behavior! Take our good Captain Gilley below to the surgeon and you two, Captain Hunter and Master Atwood, report to me at once in my cabin! We need to talk. And for honor’s sake I hope you didn’t let the Spaniard best you!”
Hunter suddenly turned green, leaned over the plank and emptied his stomach too. Atwood appeared close to doing the same.
“Christ Almighty!” I cried out, more worried than mad and rushed down to the plank to tend to my wounded. I helped all three below to their hammocks and let them sleep off their misery. And as my wounded rested, I gave the order to cast off lines and we eased the Phantom out into the harbor where we set our sails to rendezvous with the fleet standing off in the distance a league or two away.
“Mary!” Ferguson called out as we approached the Godsend. “Two small merchantmen sailed by not but an hour ago. Both masters said the same thing: the treasure fleet is on the move, sailing east for Seville along the north coast of Hispaniola. The merchantmen accompanied the fleet for a bit and then peeled-off this morning for Santo Domingo. We have time to sail around the leeward side of the island to catch a glimpse if you are so inclined.”
“The fleet is this far south?” I asked, confused. We had always heard from Cortés and others that the treasure fleet, after leaving Havana, always sailed north, hugging the east coast of Florida to catch the favorable the winds and currents there before turning east for Spain.
“Storms blew the fleet south.”
“Well, let us have a look then!”
And that is what we did. The distance wasn’t far.
After rounding Punta Cana on the eastern tip of Hispaniola, the power and grandeur of Spain appeared before us. The treasure fleet was moving under full sail in a line that stretched across the water for several miles. We counted sixty good-sized merchantmen of different types in all, along with a number of smaller transports carrying passengers and their baggage. And we saw at least six galleons running escort too, magnificent galleons, each one a four-masted, triple-decker. The sheer majesty of the spectacle took my breath away.
After Spain’s prestige and glory turned north-east and sailed off into the horizon, we came about and returned to the waters off Santo Domingo where we found Cortés’s men waiting for us on the shore in a small inlet to the west of the city, the one we had used before, and delivered Westport’s cargo. And then we set out for Old Havana where we offloaded Fair Irish Maiden’s cargo first and then Star’s cargo, again into the hands of Cortés’s agents, to men we didn’t know but were obliged to trust. We finished our journey in the Port of Spain where we met more of Cortés’s men and offload Godsend’s goods on a desolate stretch of beach to the leeward side of the island.
Each transaction went smoothly. Our methods had become routine.
We kept in communication with our Spanish partner through letters and this is how I advised Cortés of our success. I always sent two letters in duplicate to Cortés, one to his plantation in Havana, his Hacienda la Aurora, and the other to his home in Santo Domingo because we never knew which of the two places he might be. The Spanish run a reliable system of small packet vessels in the Caribbean, through the rich Tassis family of Belgium, ferrying passengers and bags of letters and small parcels from port to port. These ships move about the islands freely without fear of pirates, even pirates have a need for mail. Post riders then pick the mail up at the docks and travel inland to deliver the letters and parcels to the proper recipients.
We passed the time in the Port of Spain overhauling our ships, mostly replacing torn sails and frayed lines, in thick humidity and punishing heat while we waited for word from Cortés. We needed payment for the Old World goods we had just delivered and instructions on where to pick up our New World cargo for the return voyage back to Ireland. Once we had finished our work on the ships, we passed the time relaxing at our favorite tavern on the square.
And then one day - to my utter surprise - Cortés strolled into the tavern looking for us. He pulled up a chair and sat down at the table with Gilley, Hunter and me, looking worn and pale.
Chapter Ten
Appearing agitated or distracted, Cortés seemed peculiarly different. He was not his usual cheerful, chatty self. But then again, neither was I.
Earlier that morning I had walked down to the water alone to refresh myself in the cool surf. I had stripped off all my clothing and waded out into neck-deep water. The world was quiet and at peace. The sunrise was a masterpiece of bold reds and purples with splashes of soft blues. I thanked God for my Good Fortune. I relished my quiet moment, my solitude. And then, no warning, I was attacked. I was attacked most viciously. Something stabbed me over and over again with searing, awful pain. It happened so fast I barely caught a glimpse of the animal’s purple tentacles as it swam away from me. And then I saw another. A pair of Portuguese man ‘o wars, or maybe it was a cluster of three, had stung me on my legs, on my thighs and across my back and stomach. Worse, I failed to read the signs…
“Are you ill, Mary?” Cortés asked me as he took a laced handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the beads of sweat off his brow. Even inside the tavern the air was stifling. “You look pale and, forgive me, I don’t wish to be indelicate, but you keep rubbing your legs and stomach.”
“No, I am not ill. I offended a fish. At least two Portuguese man ‘o wars attacked me this morning whilst I was relaxing in the surf.”
Cortés grimaced. “Ewww, I’ve heard the wounds are very painful. The skin will swell and bubble and then itch. You will be miserable for many days. But the man ‘o war’s venom is rarely fatal.”
“Lucky me,” I said and took a sip of ale.
Hunter and Gilley both looked at me with worry. I dismissed their concerns with a flick of my hand.
Cortés explained that he had come to Trinidad to see an old friend who had fallen gravely ill. He was clearly in a hurry and so we did not press him for more.
“Well, I do not have much time,” he said with an edge in his tone. “Other matters require my immediate attention back in Santo Domingo. I must depart with haste after I pay my respects to my dear friend. To business then?”
“Of course,” I replied.
“All the arrangements have been made. The money and the cargo for your ships will be ready for you in Old Havana in two weeks’ time. You should sail without delay.”
“You will have all of it in Old Havana?” Hunter asked, surprised.
“Sí. Is this a problem?”
“No,” I answered weakly. I was having trouble focusing. My skin felt like it was on fire. I was beginning to feel nauseous and was dripping in sweat.
“Good, I am sorry for the change to our usual arrangements,” Cortés said gruffly. “But this could not be helped for reasons we can discuss at a better time. It is possible that I shall see you all in Old Havana in two weeks, but I would not count on it.” And with that, Cortés abruptly excused himself and left.
We wished our Spanish friend a safe journey and after we finished our drinks, I had traded-in my ale for some awful concoction the barkeep had given me to settle my stomach, we too left the tavern. We spent the rest of the afternoon combing the streets of the port gathering all our men.
“I hope,” Gilley said, standing at the rail with Hunter and me as we watched the crew move the last of the fresh provisions on board the Star, “Señor Cortés knows what he’s doing. It seems queer he won’t be in Old Havana with us to oversee matters, to insure the trade goes smoothly, especially with so much at stake.”
Hunter nodded. “Aye. This is a lot of material to assemble in one place. I’m surprised he could hire that many wagons and men.”
“No matter,” I said. “It makes things easier for us.”
“Do you still intend to lead the fleet back to Ireland yourself, Mary?” Hunter asked.
“Aye, why not?” I replied a bit too sharply. I was feeling poorly, worse than before at the tavern. I blamed the heat of the afternoon sun. “It will be autumn soon. I long to breathe in Ireland’s cool, crisp air, to watch the leaves change color. I trust you boys can manage things here for a spell just fine whilst I am away.”
“Ha!” scoffed Gilley, “You can have cold, dreary Ireland. I rather prefer palm trees now and the warm, Caribbean sun.”
“Well,” I began to say, struggling to answer Gilley with something clever. But then my world started spinning around me and I collapsed.
I remember very little of my ordeal after that. I drifted in and out of consciousness. But I do recall the black pit. I recall the pit most vividly. Black men, not Negroes, but men dressed in black robes with ravens’ heads - black eyes, black beaks and feathers - grabbed me with their black claws and beat me mercilessly for hours. Then they bound my hands and feet and gagged me using live, black snakes for rope and tossed me into a deep pit, into a tar pit as black as night. Bloody and bruised, they left me there to die. I laid in this pit, covered in sticky tar, in agony for more days than I could count. All seemed lost until the snakes, for reasons unknown to me, took pity on me and released me. They slithered underneath my body, lifted me up on their backs and carried me to the top of the pit where I was able to crawl back into the light. And then I heard a voice, a familiar voice, a comforting voice, calling out my name.
“Mary, Mary,” I heard this voice say over and over again. And when I felt something cool being pressed against my forehead I opened my eyes to find my shining, beautiful Hunter leaning over me with a candle in his hand and a tender smile on his lips.
“What happened?” I asked as I lifted my head up off a pillow to look around. I was on the ship, lying in my bunk.
Hunter softly stroked my hair. “You’ve been unconscious for some time.”
“Unconscious? Was I injured? I’m I dying?”
Hunter, my hardnosed man of rippling brawn, took his finger and brushed away a tear running down his cheek. “No, I think not. I think the fever has at last broken. You’ll live, praise God, you’ll live.”
I could feel the ship rolling on the swells. “How long have I been out?”
“You’ve been asleep for four days and then some.”
“What?”
“Aye, four days, Mary. The ship’s surgeon believes the poison from the Portuguese man ‘o war is causing your affliction. Your body is covered in welts and blisters where the fish’s tentacles stung your skin. It’s as if someone had taken a lash and savagely whipped you raw all over. The surgeon has no medicine for this. But Henry said there is a Carib woman in Guadeloupe who can help. We’re sailing for Guadeloupe now under full sail.”
“Oh, aye, the man ‘o war. Where’s the fleet?”
“Gilley set out three days ago with Phantom and the rest of our ships to meet Cortés’s men in Cuba. He’ll pick up our money and cargo at Old Havana and then it’s off to mother Ireland. You can do the honors, lead the fleet, next time around after you’ve recovered.”
“Oh,” is all I could say. I didn’t have the strength to say more and settled back down on my pillows.
Hunter looked worn and tired. His hair was disheveled. Thick stubble covered his chin. His eyes were propped up by dark, half-moons. Even so, he took my hand and offered me a loving smile, his only concern was for me. “Gilley and I almost came to blows over who would stay with you and who would lead the ships back to Ireland. I won. Rest now Mary.”
I did as Hunter asked. I closed my eyes and drifted off in sleep.
When I awoke again I found myself inside a tent, one of ours, pitched against the shore with an old Carib woman sitting by my side. The old woman offered me a toothless grin. It was night and there were many lanterns and candles set out all around me. The air was thick with smoke and pungent incense.
“Who are you?” I asked. But the old woman wouldn’t speak.
Hunter pulled the tent’s flap back when he heard my voice and stepped inside. “Mary!”
“James, where are we?”
“We’re in Guadeloupe.”
“And who is this woman?”
“You don’t remember?”
“No. Remember what?”
“We thought we lost you.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Port of Spain, the Portuguese man ‘o war?”
“Oh,” I said, struggling to remember. “We were on the ship?’
“Aye. You awoke briefly, but then your fever returned. This woman saved your life. She is a healer. It was Henry’s idea to bring you to her. Nothing the ship’s surgeon tried helped you. He applied a salve to your wounds and administered what little Paracleus’s laudanum we had on board to you, but the medicine only made you retch. Nothing we tried eased your fever for very long. Not even the cinchona Cortés supplied us with helped. And while you burned, the skin all over your body turned black and blue and blistered. I began to fear you had the plague.”
“We were with Cortés in Trinidad.”
“Aye, that’s right. He left for Santo Domingo and Gilley left for Old Havana.”
“And then I fell into a pit.”
“A pit? What pit?”
“Oh, never mind. We’re in Old Havana?”
“No my darling girl, we’re in Guadeloupe.”
“Oh, aye, aye, so you said. And the others?”
“Gilley should be well on his way to Ireland by now with our ships loaded down with New World goods.”
“And Star is anchored in the bay?”
“Aye, indeed she is. Now let’s try to get some broth in you. You haven’t eaten in well over a week.”
Even the simplest tasks exhausted me at first. I was weak and thin. My trousers wouldn’t stay on my hips. Each day Hunter made me walk and swim. Each day we went a little longer and a little farther around the island until my health and strength slowly returned.
Among my closest officers, only Hunter was with me and we had less than one hundred men. All the others had sailed with Gilley.
I sat on a blanket in the sand next to Hunter near the campfire as we shared a meal of roasted pig and corn and boiled squash and I even felt well enough to have a thimble full or two of mellow wine. Our men were doing the same around their campfires stretched out along the shore. A fair number of Carib men, women and children turned out to join us in our modest feast. The camp settled into a merry mood with soft music, dancing and laughter.
A gentle breeze with a hint, a tease, of autumn blew off the water from the north. The stars were bright and clear. The evening was sublime.
Hunter refilled my mug. “You are looking much better, Mary.”
“I feel much better.”
